At Night Your Body Is a Symphony, and I'm Conducting
by Starlight'sSong
Summary: 'He's irrevocably alone in his bedroom aboard the TARDIS, where at the other end of his ship, the Ponds sleep (or are doing other humany-wumany things), still and sound and blissfully unaware of the fact that their best friend, their sweet, bouncy, childish Doctor, is having distinctly explicit dreams about their daughter.'
1. Prologue

So I've had this idea for months and suddenly found the full 30 Day OTP Challenge, and sooner than you can say Raxacoricofallapatorius, I started writing this thing.

Also: I suck beyond suckage at updating, so don't expect anything frequent or regular. Sorry, sweeties. And just telling you that this is available on my Archive of Our Own account, under my penname ASpaceyWaceyDetectiveinNightVale.

* * *

_Well, I'm still alive_

_And at night, your body is a symphony _

_And I'm conducting._

The Calendar, Panic! At the Disco

* * *

_He isn't sure what wakes him at first. He was sleeping soundly, then a creaking noise had echoed through his motionless state. Perhaps that's it._

_The Doctor shifts, mumbling nonsense under his breath and rubbing a hand over his face. Sitting up, he yawns and blinks blearily._

_And nearly faints back into unconsciousness._

_River Song is sitting at the foot of his bed, wearing her characteristic smirk (which he's decidedly placed in the 'naughty' category) and a white silken nightgown. Its hem barely reaches her thighs and the material falls around her in a way that has him even more discombobulated. He doesn't know how that's possible. "Hello, sweetie."_

_"River?" Thank Rassilon he doesn't squeak- but perhaps that's due to his voice being ragged from sleep. "What- what are you doing here?"_

_"Oh, I didn't have any plans after getting out of that stuffy cell of mine tonight again. And I know you get so lonely sometimes, sleeping all alone at night. . ." she murmurs. It makes him shudder. "I decided you wouldn't mind me paying you a visit. Help you with pleasant dreams." _That_ sends a spark to his stomach, flushing. He swallows._

_"What. . . exactly do you mean?" He's only wearing boxer shorts instead of pyjamas tonight, and he feels extremely exposed. He pulls the sheets up to his chest._

_"Well, I really do think you're hot when you're clever, so start being clever and figure it out." River's purring the words now as she sidles up to- no, _slinks towards_ him. He sucks in his breath and presses back against the headboard, trying to will his mind to function properly. Unfortunately, his mind is the only thing that isn't responsive to his current situation._

_"R-River, I- I'm not- I'm not sure if- maybe-"_

_"Shh, my love," she tells him (and he doesn't understand how a person's voice can be capable of practically liquid sex; perhaps that's just River- well, yes, it has to be). She's practically sitting on top of him- she is, actually, straddling him. And she's not wearing knickers, he realises. His throat feels stuck shut._

_"Don't spoil it," and her tone is simply sinful._

_River kisses him softly on the corner of his mouth. She doesn't catch him full on the lips, but runs her tongue over the top one. His breath shakes. He can feel the corner of her mouth quirk up as she licks his lips over, slowly and thoroughly. His eyes have fluttered closed, his morality protesting this is wrong and not good and you need to push her away while his physicality screams an overwhelming want, and he muffles a groan when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and sucks on it. Her hands ghost down his arms, her fingertips lightly gracing his skin. They trace looping Gallifreyan that spells out messages to make the want even more embarrassingly obvious._

_She finally deigns herself to fully kiss him. It's hot and heavy and fierce and has him moaning her name into her mouth, his hands slipping up her back into her mess of curls. She clutches him tightly. Deepens the kiss and whimpers. Her nails rake down his back and he chokes a cry muffled by her tongue on his._

_They're forced to separate for air, both their breathing thick and ragged, their foreheads resting together. Her nightgown straps have fallen and the skirt is hitched up to her hips. Before he has time to think about what's really happening and why he's permitting himself to do this, she crushes their lips together once more and begins to tug his pants down. He gasps, hissing low in his throat from relief._

_"River," he moans, "please-"_

_She looks him in the eye, grins before placing kisses down his chest and belly and teasing with teeth and tongue, and folds her lips over him; he sees stars burst behind his eyes as he yells for her, now desperate._

* * *

The Doctor wakes up.

He's dizzy. He's slick with sweat and gasping for breath, hearts beating as though he's running for his life for the countless time. He's tangled in sheets and nerves are throbbing in extremely uncomfortable places.

And he's irrevocably alone in his bedroom aboard the TARDIS, where at the other end of his ship, the Ponds sleep (or are doing other humany-wumany things), still and sound and blissfully unaware of the fact that their best friend, their sweet, bouncy, childish Doctor, is having distinctly explicit dreams about their daughter.

Shit, he thinks, sighing and closing his eyes. He lets his head fall back against the headboard and promptly winces at the jolt of pain.

He needs a shower- a cold one.

* * *

You're the Child of Gallifrey, commander of the entire cosmos when you utter a single word or snap your fingers. You're the Oncoming Bloody Storm, for God's sake, he tells himself in disgust. You're the Doctor. You're the last of the Time Lords, and Time Lords do not become sexually frustrated, especially not with mad, infuriating, devious women who happen to have the name of River Song.

Rule One flashes briefly in his mind.

"Stupid, stupid, bad and awful Doctor," he says aloud, thwacking himself in the head and scowling at the rushing, steady fall of the shower. "She's rubbing off on you in bad and awful ways, and not the way you want her to- which you are not allowed to want. Stop it."

River has kissed him twice: once after the Silence debacle, and the second during his revivation in Berlin. The first had been her ending and the second had been her beginning. He's been wondering what's in the middle; well, no, he's quite sure he knows.

He doesn't know how it will happen, or when, or where. But still, he favours guesses:

Will it happen under anticipation, or a sudden snap? Something planned or immediate, fervent need? Is it going to be some long, sensual lovemaking session between the sheets, or simply fucking on the console room floor? Maybe even in her cell in Stormcage? During one of their adventures?

The Doctor doesn't like question-y words that begin with W and never imply his cluelessness about the matter at hand, and he does hate not knowing everything at times. He knows almost everything, which usually suffices. His current musings are part of that almost, devoid of his understanding.

He growls under his breath, agitatedly running his fingers through his now-tangled and soaking dark hair. Everything about River Song is difficult. But the thing is, really, he can't keep himself away from mysteries and conundrums, and she most certainly is his own personal conundrum. Truth be told, he loves it.

He loves her.

The abrupt thought makes him swallow thickly, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. But. . . well, yes. It had been a nagging sensation, gnawing at the corners of his mind and hearts, since Amy and Rory's wedding.

_"Are you married, River?"_

It had grown since Demon's Run. Flourished during and after Berlin.

The Doctor loves River Song. The fantastically clever, capable, wild, beautiful enigma she is. Melody Pond who had grown up and fallen for a susceptible, flighty madman who spins the fabric of time through his fingers, lets the stars dance forever in both anarchy and harmony around his magnificent magic box.

He want to take her dancing around the stars to see her glow even brighter than they, themselves, do, he decides. Yes, he remembers River's smile so very clearly and he thinks- knows- he wants to see it again.

Affection really isn't the hard part, the Doctor muses, shutting the water off. He rakes one hand through his hair again, it being scraggly and dampened. Affection's simple. It's when you take them off to discover a new form of life or a bursting constellation and you hold their hand, kiss their forehead, hug them tightly. It's easy and careless and makes you feel warm. Just like when he had Rose Tyler- his (used to be his) lovely pink-and-yellow girl. That was simple. So was being with Donna. He'd wanted to feel nothing when he was traveling with Martha; just a distraction from the aftermath of the Battle of Canary Warf, so it hadn't counted then. He loves the Ponds, his brilliant humans, and that's easy, too.

Affection is easy. Lust is not. And when he feels both for one person, it makes it a big messy amount of mixed-up-ness in his head and hearts.

He frowns as he throws his dressing gown around his shoulders and starts for his bedroom, feeling foggy from lack of sleep (which is odd; he doesn't often sleep anyway, but he supposes after his dreaming, it's needed). He's always been rubbish at these sorts of things, has always been, and it's been centuries since he's given thought to it. River's jumpstarted that feeling. So it is safe to say he's given thought to that sort of thing with her. And, frighteningly, would act upon it if given consent.

He yawns, blinking hazily in the dim, yellow light of the TARDIS corridors, walking through them absentmindedly. Considering all the flirting, subtle touches, and the fantastically intimate kiss outside Stormcage, she did consent, more than willingly, in her past and in his future. Not yet: there at the time, so was still so young.

Surely he's no longer in danger of so many spoilers, the Doctor thinks, stepping through the doorway of his bedroom. He's mostly stuck in the middle now, balancing on a tightrope and looking down, feeling scared, wary, uneasy, for he's not sure how he'll make it across and wishing River will be there if he slips and falls.

Why does he end up being the damsel in distress so very much? It's slightly distressing for his reputation. He's the Doctor, after all.

He falls back into the rumpled sheets on his mattress, his parting thoughts putting him to sleep with pictures of honeyed curls, velvety, scarlet lips, and a fierce, meaningful love meant for he and him alone flitting across his overaged, constantly restive mind.


	2. Tease

A/N: God, I'm having fun writing this thing. But if there's a plot, well, someone tell me what it is.

* * *

When the Doctor wakes the next (figurative) morning in an actually normal manner, he nearly has a double hearts-attack when it happens _again. _

He rouses himself with a yawn, feeling relieved the remainder of the night had been dreamless. Rolling onto his side, his eyes blink open.

They immediately meet bright, playful green ones.

Even though it may seem so, the Doctor does _not _shriek or nearly fall off the bed, because that would be terribly embarrassing. At any rate, he's bewildered and surprised out of his wits.

"Morning, honey." River sits up on his bed, clearly pleased with herself and silently laughing at him as she adjusts a hairpin. Fortunately (or maybe not- but he's not going to think about that), she's wearing something less revealing than what his mind's eye had envisioned the previous night: a black leather jacket over a lace edged tank top, charcoal grey trousers with lighter pinstripes, a pair of buckled combat boots. He personally thinks she looks _amazing_ in black, sort of like a secret spy agent or a criminal mastermind, or a sinister, minxy dominatrix-

He quickly banishes those thoughts and the sudden flash of images across his mind, instinctively pulling and knotting his dressing gown closed. He's blushing, he's sure. His cheeks feel redhot. He scowls.

"No warning at all? Not even 'hello, sweetie'? Are you trying to kill me- again? I'd rather not regenerate before breakfast," he says crossly, and her grin only broadens. "What're you doing here and _why _did you decide to do-" he gestures at her wildly, "that, out of all the things you could have done to wake me up?"

"Oh, and how would you like me to wake you up, Doctor?" Her voice drops from light and teasing to low and alluring in less than a millisecond. So that wasn't just a fantasy of his that River Song can be more than capable of those certain things. It's potentially dangerous.

"W-well, you could- maybe just- I don't know, just don't try to scare me like that!" He is squeaking now, just a bit, and he knows how hard he's blushing now. Just so he doesn't have to look at her anymore, he steps to the floor and makes his way towards the closet in the corner of his room. _Mean, unfair River Song who acts like she doesn't care for his well-being. _

"I really can't help it. You make it too easy," says River, teasing again. "You're not going to ask why I just happened to be in your bed the moment you woke this morning?"

"Do you have to do that?" he mutters, shifting through the clothing hanging on the closet's rack to find a shirt. "You really are going to kill me before breakfast, and that's disappointing. I just got three new flavours of jam from Kudapaie yesterday and I was looking forward to them." He picks a button-down from the rack and holds the hanger in his mouth, searching for a bow tie.

"Old habits die hard."

"I've gotten that by now, dear." It's strange how easily the endearment rolls off his tongue, even when he has a hanger in his mouth. It seems natural. Maybe he'll use it more often. She likes it when he calls her those names, he's figured out. And he won't admit how much he likes 'sweetie'. "Though you could do me a favour and tell me why you broke out of Stormcage. Could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't just so you could flirt with me before moonpeach-satsuma jam on toast. Or with a spoon, more likely."

"Oh, you wish I did," she scoffs at him. He smirks- and instantly drops the hanger. He frowns and reaches down to pick it back up. "They decided to move me yesterday to another useless cell, after what I did to the last one. Wasn't my fault, entirely. I only disintegrated the bars."

He drops the shirt once more. "_What?_"

"It was partially your fault, too, seeing as you were the one who gave me the- " River pauses momentarily. "Or is that spoilers?"

"_River_, you're not allowed to do things like that, you know," the Doctor tells her. He turns his miffed expression on the closet's supplies as he attempts to chastise her, but only managing somewhat of a complaint. He doesn't know why he tries; it's not as if she'll ever stop, not even for him. Mostly because she's River Song and she knows that _he _knows he doesn't actually mind it. He finally finds a pair of trousers. He combs through the rack again, searching for the bracers he hung there yesterday. The shirt can be left on the floor for right now, because it obviously doesn't like him very much.

"Look, those are habits, sweetie." There it is again. "Anyway, there was rather a debacle involving several guards who were all terrible kissers- " and he feels irrationally annoyed at that remark, " -then I got word of misplaced test scores at Luna, and I lost my favourite shoes! Not to mention that I burned out my only curling iron- "

"Why do you _need _a curling iron?" he asks incredulously, turning to look at her with a furrowed brow after resting his as-per-usual tweed jacket over one shoulder, having found it and the bracers.

River gives him a look that's mean, scary, and still slightly sexy all at once. It's a terrible combination and inconsiderate to the state of his insides. "Because I was hoping we could have a girls' night in and do makeovers, Doctor," she says flatly, then huffs,"Some of these don't come as natural as I'd like," as she holds up several caramel-tinted curls.

"Well, I sort of figured a bit that the rest give off this mad bounciness so much it helps. . . the others. . . not to need it." The Doctor's words trickle off with the Look River is still fixing upon him, so he shuts up and drops his clothes next to the shirt on the floor, beginning to seek out a pair of shoes.

"Do you _want_ to know why I decided to drop in or not?"

"A little, yeah." He finds the shoes, drops them next to the clothes as well, and starts looking for pants. Which should be a first priority, really.

He absentmindedly has a thought that maybe he won't need them later if River's here, which is absolutely not good and he winces the thought far away.

"I wanted to get away for a while. Wanted to see my parents. And I do have a steady babysitting job," she adds drily.

"What? For who? When'd you become a nanny?" Now he's bewildered. There is no one less likely than River who would look after small children.

She sighs, her look less mean and more the impatient sort of one being patronised. "Who, indeed?"

"Oh." He does find a pair of pants; the blue ones with little yellow ducks on them. One of his favourites. "That's almost rude, Dr. Song."

"The truth does hurt, honey."

"That's even more rude," he mumbles. It seems he's collected all his clothes, so the final act is, well, putting them on. "Um, River? I'm going to have to. . . get dressed, you know," he says tentatively, his hand over the knot on his dressing gown.

"I suppose you will," she says, appearing fully nonchalant as she looks over at him from the bed.

"And. . . you're still here."

"Fancy that."

"On the bed. Next to where I am."

"If only you could use that fantastic sense of direction to fly the TARDIS, honey."

He ignores the jab (but just barely) and speaks, again, hesitatingly, "And I'll be here. . . naked, without clothes, in front of you."

"That _is_ what seems to happen before one gets dressed, yes."

Damn it all, he's blushing again. "So. . . you'll. . . have to leave. Just for a bit." _Or not._

"Now, why would I do that?"

He curses this regeneration's little giveaways straight to hell. It's torture. "Because- b-because you'll be on the bed, next to me, and- and I'll be here, without clothes on!"

"Mm. . . deja vu," she purrs (his dreams really _do _cast her quite in-character- that really should be a problem), and rises from the mattress. "Now, _that's _spoilers." His stutterings immediately halt on his tongue as she draws closer. When his back presses against the wall, hands fluttering uselessly, his mind shifts automatically to the aforementioned dreams of last night. He tries madly to shut it off.

"You look considerably better that way, if you want my opinion, my love." River smirks, her eyes- sparkling, emerald, slightly darkened- trail over his figure and linger on certain places. He opens his mouth to attempt coherency, but fails miserably when he realises she has him between the wall, herself, and his dressing gown, which is really quite a thin material, now that he thinks on it. Too thin.

"D-do you think so?" the Doctor manages, his eyes locked on her fingers starting to trace an invisible line across the blue, silken fabric, starting at his shoulder, then across his collarbone, up his neck, behind his ear. She brushes over one spot that makes him sigh, his eyes closing.

What he feels next is a caress of lips over his neck, just below his jaw. She begins leave the lightest of kisses down his skin, chaste and just as teasing as her voice itself. His hands have fallen at her waist. He moans softly at the sensation.

"Doctor?" River breathes, her tongue licking briefly at his collarbone.

"Yes," he whispers, not honestly sure if it's a reply or a plea.

She draws back suddenly. "You left these on your bed." She holds up his pants from last night- the ones he nearly ruined. "And speaking of before breakfast, you might want to shower first. No wonder I remember liking this dressing gown so much; it's not very concealing."

She drops his polka-dotted pants near his pile of clothes and starts for the door. She tosses him a wink over her shoulder before leaving.

The Doctor closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He lets his incredibly tense body relax against the wall.

_Mean, unfair River Song who actually doesn't care for his well-being._


End file.
